The Art of War
by UtterlyNonsensical
Summary: Our favorite couple's story isn't over yet, and neither is the war. Prepare for murder and mayhem, guns and bombs, Bovril... And do the Germans have something up their sleeves? Alek and Deryn's adventures after Goliath.
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: Does Leviathan belong to me? Of course not; that would be nonsensical...

* * *

Annette Kohler watched with terrified eyes as the German officer-what was his name?- led her beloved old Grandfather out of the house, tossing the old man on his knees in the frozen grass. She wanted to scream out- her Grandfather had bad knees.

She brought her fist to her mouth to hold in any noise. Arthritic knees didn't matter, not now, not when-

Deep breath-

Choking on tears-

The officer bent over Grandfather, and said something low. And Grandfather jerked his head up in anger and hissed something back. _No surrender_.

Annette fingered the row of daggers discretely hidden inside her peasant's coat. But, no. That wouldn't help. There were too many soldiers to take down. Enough soldiers to outnumber the dozen or so staff that had stayed at Grandfather's side.

Sure, she might be able to take out the officer standing threateningly at Grandfather's side. Perhaps even the two soldiers standing just behind him, before they noticed her.

But then they'd notice. And catch her. And she couldn't run _that_ fast. Besides, they'd get the scroll hidden deep in her peasant-coat pocket.

The scroll on which Grandfather had busily scribbled all of the pertinent information, then thrust into her hands. The horror she knew was marching towards the Darwinists. And she remembered, "_Girl, take this to the Count; he always has a plan. It's vital information. He'll know what it means. And _hurry_. Run, don't stop-"_

And that's when they'd heard the door break down.

Now, the officer took a dozen steps back from Grandfather-

Pulled out his gun, all casually-

Annette turned away from the scene, and ran further into the woods, away from the house-

And towards London.

* * *

A/N: for those of you who aren't fans of original characters, you'll be pleased to learn that we will have A LOT more Deryn and Alek chapters than Annette chapters.

By the way, this is going to be a long-ish story. I'm estimating at least twenty chapters, and this is by far the shortest. Alek and Deryn in the next chapter, don't worry. Reviews please? What do you think the Germans have up their sleeve? *evil laugh*


	2. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: The world of Leviathan, Behemoth, and Goliath belong to Scott Westerfeld. However, he has been so kind as to allow us fans to play with his characters. Thanks Scott-La!

* * *

"Barking spiders, maybe I wasn't cut out for this," thought Deryn as her blue eyes swept the party.

Deryn and Alek were dancing.

Granted, Deryn was in a dress, and that sort of made things less enjoyable. And it wasn't like they were alone; they were in a huge ballroom in the midst of a bunch of people deep in the heart of Germany (Enemy territory!) and they were on a mission...

But they were dancing. And Alek was holding her, which she quite liked. Even if the daft boy wasn't paying much attention to her. Even if he was constantly looking over her shoulder, scanning the room for the men that Dr. Barlow had sent them to find. And even though Count Volger was standing in a corner of the room, watching them, acting as chaperone...

They were still dancing together.

Deryn sighed.

She could hear the stringed band playing in the background, adding to the lively atmosphere. Couples danced gracefully on the floor and she wrinkled her nose as she watched them. Dancing- just one more thing she had to learn on top of her other duties.

She could picture Dr. Barlow's face in her mind. "Of course you need to learn to dance, Miss Sharp! I am training you to be my assistant. You'll need to go undercover, you'll need to learn to blend in with the others. And that includes dancing." Alek, lucky, daft boy that he was, already knew how to dance spectacularly, and even agreed with Dr. Barlow! "Bum-rag" whispered Deryn, but softly. She was playing the part of a lady tonight and it wouldn't do to curse. The foreign ambassadors at the party might spill their drinks if they heard.

They circled the party ("gracefully, head up, hands still at her sides, strides measured" recited Dr. Barlow in her head) and scanned the room again. This was yet another training assignment. They were in Magdeburg, almost smack dab in the middle of Germany.

Dr. Barlow was certain that the Germans had something up their sleeve; something big. She had given them a simple prompt for tonight. The two of them needed to identify the bodyguards on duty for two men: the Zoological Society's President, the Duke of Bedford, and Greg Hanover. Hanover was technically English, a wealthy merchant who was heavily invested in German weapon technology. Smaller German merchants buzzed around him like bees.

Deryn thought she had tagged at least two of Hanover's bodyguards and one of the Duke's, but she couldn't be sure. She thought that the physical appearance of the huge, hulking men would be too obvious to act as bodyguards, but perhaps they were purposely placed to mislead her.

It galled her that she had been reduced to this- this role of observer. She hadn't done _anything_ since coming under Dr. Barlow's pay. Just took lessons about dancing, and history and politics and _stuff_.

Alek got all the interesting lessons, like street fighting lessons from a disreputable-looking man Deryn could hardly believe Dr. Barlow acquainted with. She'd been a little wary at first, but she couldn't deny Alek's significant improvement in knife throwing… or the new muscles he was getting…

Alek stepped on her foot then, and his muffled curse brought her out of her musing.

Alek never stepped on her. He was always the graceful, poised dancer, the daft-

Someone was speaking over her shoulder.

"May I cut in?"

She turned, to find a young man staring down at her intently. He was dark-haired, with a strong face and eyes that glittered down maliciously. "I have heard that British women are among the most graceful creatures on earth. I would hardly like to go back home and not have a dance to tell of."

Alek choked and Deryn fought down a blush- he must be a German, he had that accent even when speaking flawless English. And he was clearly insulting her; insinuating that she was graceful, as she certainly wasn't, even with the new dance lessons. She wondered what his real purpose in asking her to dance. Did he have information? Was he a spy? Or a Society member in disguise, sent from Dr. Barlow to assess her?

She nodded to Alek absently and placed her slightly sweaty hands in those of the young man.

She tilted her chin up in the face of Alek's worried look and quirked an eyebrow at the German. "I fear that I am no example of British finery," she said, trying to imitate the cultured tongue of Dr. Barlow.

He grinned at her Scottish accent, then pointedly looked down at her fine-trimmed dress, courtesy of the Society. "How do you mean?" He expertly twirled her away, and then back again-

"Well," she confessed, "I can't really dance."

"Nonsense, you just need someone taller than you, and who knows _how_-"

"Al- _He_ knows how to dance brilliant-" indignant, she barely kept from saying Alek's name.

"Hmmm," he considered. "But you are taller."

She flushed, and stopped right in the dance floor, completely forgetting to remain cultured. She unconsciously took a fighting stance and challenged- "And what's wrong with that, Clanker? Afraid of tall women-?"

He looked down at her (he was a few inches taller than she), amused. "Certainly not. Forgive me madam-"

They resumed dancing. A stiff silence followed.

"How did you know that I am a Clanker?"

Deryn tread carefully here, knowing that she had to be cautious.

"Well," she considered. "Your accent, for one. And although your coat is stereotypically British..." She scrutinized him closely.

"Your haircut is quite German."

He smirked, impressed. "Ah, but I could be only pretending to be a German-"

She rolled her eyes "A Brit pretending to be a German pretending to be a Brit?"

"And," she cut off his laugh, "you have engine grease under your fingernails, though you've tried to wash it off. A sign of a true Clanker," she finished triumphantly.

He threw his head back and laughed, causing another couple to turn and stare at them.

He had a deep, pleasant laugh but right now it made her nervous-

"And what name are you parading under tonight, my lady spy?"

Cold in her belly, dread- "What do you mean?"

He brought his mouth uncomfortably close to her ear and said, "I have surmised who you are, madam." He pulled away a little, and continued. "A tall, blond girl dancing with a short, brown-haired boy. She has a Scottish accent and a tendency to argue-"

Here he put up a hand to cut off her words.

"And is in possession," he continued, "of sword-callused hands; prone to taking a fighter's stance in a heated debate." He leaned in even closer, "She can spot a Clanker a mile off."

Then he uttered words that scared here even more- _no German should have known her name-_

"Is it possible I am dancing with Miss Deryn Sharp?"

* * *

A/N: I love reviews like Bovril loves strawberries.


	3. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I'm studying pharmacy so that I can support my writing fanaticism. If I was Scott Westerfeld, I wouldn't have to worry money. I'd be sunbathing in Australia.

A little plot and back story in this chapter. My apologies, but it's necessary for story development.

* * *

Annette trudged through the ankle-deep snow on her way north-west toward London. Night was falling, though she could see Magdeburg a little ways off. She would sleep in the outskirts of that huge city tonight.

It had been two days. Two days since her Grandfather had died, since she had run.

Something was niggling in the back of her mind about that night, that scene. Besides the traumatizing death of her Grandfather, there was something else...

She clutched the scroll closer to her chest and contemplated the contents written there.

Grandfather was a chemist, a good one. He was in high regard with his compatriots. Until recently, that was. He had been one of the leading scientists working on a project related to the war. Then something had happened that caused him to have second thoughts-

_More than second thoughts_. She thought, grimly. He had come home from a meeting with the other scientists and a representative from the government, frantically pacing the floor of his study. Muttering under his breath _it's not right, they'll be defenseless_…

She had stood in the doorway, listening to the thump, thump of his heavy boots hitting the floorboard, horrified.

They were working on something big, something that would wipe millions, he had said.

Peasants. Women, children, the old, all the livestock too.

_Annette_, _War was not meant to be fought that way_, he had said.

War was meant to be fought between men, between dedicated soldiers.

He had placed his hands on her shoulders, _war is changing_, _girl,_ he had said.

She had stood there with growing dread in her stomach.

_What was it_? This thing that would change the war?

She didn't know. She just knew she needed to stop it. And to do that, she needed to visit her dear cousin Aleksander and wildcount Volger, reportedly in London.

Annette had reached the outskirts of Magdeburg. Some of the peasants in the surrounding homes had erected a few tents to create a makeshift marketplace. She breathed a short sigh of relief- if it was market day, she might actually get to sleep in a house tonight, instead of a barn.

She paused and let the crowds flow around her. She was not the only refugee. Hordes of smelly, dirty peasants surrounded her, moving toward the city.

Raised though she had been in fine houses with servants, Annette was too tired now to care about all the people touching her. Besides, if anyone got too touchy, she had her knives.

Annette had never been so thankful that her father had insisted that she know how to defend herself.

He was determined that, though she would never be a fist-fighter, she could at least fight from a distance. She could shoot a gun almost as well as he, and her knife-throwing skills surpassed even her tutor's.

Right now she had half a dozen knives on her within easy reach. She was smart; she knew better than to have brought a fancy German-made pistol with her on her trip to London. Hopefully, she wouldn't have to use a weapon, but there was always the possibility that she would be searched at some time or other.

Edging out of the crowd of people to the side of the clearing, she addressed a middle-aged man who was pulling up tent stakes.

She cleared her throat and reminded herself of the slow, drawling way that peasants spoke. "Do ya know where I c'n spend the night?" He raised an eyebrow, wary. "F'r a coin?" she pressed.

He jerked his thumb toward the city. "No one here would tek inna stranger. Everyone's full already, see?"

She nodded. There _were_ a lot of refugees.

He grunted. "I'd head in to the city if I wuz you. Get meself a room for a coin."

She thanked him and continued on, confirming his words with some of the other townfolk. The answer was same everyone. No room here; move on, stranger.

She wondered if common people were always so mistrusting, or if it was a result of the war. The thought saddened her.

Slinking into a booth in a dirty bar, she ordered coffee (the only non-alcoholic beverage they had) and surreptitiously scanned the room. She wanted to hear the gossip, the talk of the war. Were there soldiers nearby?

Half an hour later, she had her answer. There was a troop stationed on the north side of the city, and all the officers were at some diplomatic meeting at the town hall. Darwinists were here too, Brits. Some sort of boffin-conference. She could imagine that scene- the stiff pleasantries between opposing sides, stilted proposals for "mutual understanding." As if science could unite enemies. Science was what had started this whole war, wasn't it?

But that was boffins for you.

She purchased a room for a night from the barkeeper. And determined to keep her knives under her pillow, after the way the man had leered at her.

After locking the door firmly, she turned and surveyed the room. It was tiny- almost smaller than her closet at home. A rickety bed (and very suspicious-looking ratty blanks) was the only stick of furniture in the whole place. There was a window, however. She looked out this now, surveying the city.

She could see the town hall, lit up like a Christmas tree. Carriages and small city-walkers stood outside the doors.

Hmm, that was where the British diplomats were right now.

She stood and remembered back to two nights ago.

Something was not right about it. She closed her eyes and tried to remember exactly how everyone had been standing. Everyone had been looking at her father, and not at the surrounding woods. No one had seen here... _had they_?

She let out a tired breath and scanned the city again from the window. Suddenly she squinted at the town hall.

Were her eyes deceiving her in the twilight, or were there people running on the roof of the hall?

She pressed her nose to the glass. Yes, perhaps a dozen people were up there.

Were they _jumping_?

That was when an explosion shook the ground, throwing her to the ground.

Dust rained from the ceiling, causing her to cough violently. And was that a crack in the wall?

Frantic, she unlocked the door grabbed her small bag from the bed, and ran down the stairs to the main floor of the bar/inn.

She careened in to people on the way down. Screams-

People were running from the direction of the town hall. She stopped, shocked at the sight.

A fiery crater in the ground was all that was left of the town hall.

* * *

A/N: hmmm... what happened to Alek and Deryn in that town hall? Hope they're okay...

Alll right, first three chapters. That's all for now. I'm almost done developing the final story arcs then I'll post another chapter soon.

Reviews= candy


	4. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: not mine

Deryn as a lady? Pshhhh. Let's try swearing, bare legs, and bombs.

* * *

Deryn froze.

He knew her name. Barking spiders, that meant he probably knew Alek's name too.

He wasn't supposed to know her name. Tonight she was supposed to be Miss Alice Hayes, bookish boffin-in-training from Britain on this "peaceful" Convention planning trip.

And now this sodding German boy knew her name, and_ had she just compromised the whole mission?_

Her muscles tensed, ready to run.

He pulled her to him, intent to keep dancing. "My stars, Deryn. You make a rather terrible spy. It was obvious I had you there." He grinned, "you need better acting skills."

She glared, not relaxing in the slightest. Weight on her toes, ready to fight-

"Bum-rag."

"Well, lucky for you, I'm not a real Clanker. Just a pretend one. See, my name is Frederic Baker."

"Ahhhh," she cocked her head at him. "So your Da is-"

"Nicodemus Baker, the ambassador from Britain to Germany. So really..."

Here, he paused. She relaxed her stance, and remembered where they were (in public, at a dance) and that she must appear a lady.

He twirled her around in time with the music-

caught her-

"...If I didn't know your name, I wouldn't be doing my job. Nice observations skills though, liebe."

She frowned. Only Alek called her _liebe_.

"Call me that again, and I'll have to challenge you to a fight."

"Ahh, there's a corner on that market, then. The short boy, perhaps?"

She huffed. "Bum-rag!"

The song ended, and she dropped his hands and stepped away.

He smiled down at her. "Pleasure."

She wished that she wasn't in public; perhaps then she could fight with him properly.

"I can't say the same." She walked away-

And didn't deign to look over her shoulder.

She found Alek by the punch bowl and checked in with him. "Did you locate any of the other guards, your princeliness?"

He stopped scanning the room and looked at her. "Yes, well, I believe I found the remaining body guards. That man," he nodded to a slim man across from them, who was talking to a woman animatedly.

She narrowed her eyes. "What makes you think he's a guard?"

"Well, he circles the room pretty well. I think he's got a gun hidden on the inside of his jacket. Do you see that slight crease there? And every so often, he makes eye contact with that man there." He pointed to one of the bulky men next to Nicodemus Baker. Frederic stood next to his greying father, conversing quietly. He looked up and saw Alek pointing to him. He sent a lazy wink at Deryn.

She huffed and turned back to Alek.

"Well spotted."

They stood and surveyed the party again.

"It appears we've completed our training mission. Now all we have to do is sit through all the science conferences tomorrow, then we can go home." He sounded relieved.

She smiled at the formal phrasing; dear educated fancy-boots that he is…

"Aye, I'm ready to go back home. We haven't been in London since that Christmas character-gala for the Society a month ago."

"Hmmm." He grinned sideways at her, remembering the gala. She grinned back at him. "Would you like to dance, your princeliness?"

He led her out to the dance floor.

He had warm hand, callused fingers-

She smiled-

He stopped suddenly.

"Quick, did you see that?"

She turned and scanned the doorway where Alek pointed-

A man? Just disappearing down the hallway!

"That was definitely a German soldier, and up to no good, I'd say."

She broke into a run, but he pulled her back.

She looked down at their linked hands-

Oh, right. Still a lady.

They walked quickly to the doorway, mindful of the dignitaries watching them. Out into the hall, they could finally run.

_Blisters, this dress_. Deryn scooped up the _sodding_ skirts and tucked them into her fashionable sash.

Barking spiders, the look on Alek's _face_.

Legs bare clear up to her knees, she unfastened the guns strapped to her calves.

Alek had on a formal jacket, rather more sensible for hiding all sorts of interesting weaponry. He turned and faced her with a pistol and a hand knife.

She was tempted to stop and contemplate the inherent _perfectness_ of the two of them, and she could see he is tempted to stop and ogle her legs. _Sigh_, but they had a bad guy to catch.

They raced down the hallway.

Breathing, short. In tandem-

The hallway comes to a T. Stairs on the right and another hallway down the left. They were on the bottom floor.

Deryn immediately turned down the hallway. She saw the shadow of the man disappearing into a parlor.

_He left the door open_.

They burst in, guns pointed everywhere-

The window framed him, his maniacal smile.

He wore the German uniform, she could see the buttons.

"You're too late," he hissed. Deryn shot and hit the man's hand. Blood-

Then he was gone.

Alek checked the window and slammed his hand onto the ledge in frustration.

"He's gone."

"What did he mean?"

They exchanged looks, a few breaths.

She could see the fear in his eyes as soon as she thought of it.

The German diplomat hosting the affair tonight was becoming sympathetic to their pleas. Everyone one else was committed to peace, or to Britain-

They race back to the ballroom. Was the hallway always this long? The town hall always this big?

They burst in. Acting a lady didn't matter anymore.

She can see it's too late. The ladies and gentlemen were screaming, and some were surrounding a man twitching on the floor.

The German diplomat.

All of a sudden, Volger was there. "Poison," he said grimly. "Let's leave. Now."

Deryn's stomach clenched. She was suddenly sure that everyone must get out.

"The building isn't safe."

"Indeed." He strode over to one of the bodyguards that they had identified earlier, who was standing by the Bakers.

He motioned them over. "I have informed them. Come."

Alek turned back. "What about the others?"

"They aren't our concern. We need to leave." He pulled them over to a window,

Deryn hesitated. "Won't the Germans be guarding the windows?"

He peered down at her over his bristly black mustache. "They aren't expecting anyone to know ahead of time that..."

Alek's jumped out the window now, and Deryn followed-

"... that the building's got a bomb." Volger jumped after them, and they took off down the street.

"A bomb?" Alek was aghast. He stopped. "No, Volger, that's wrong! Those people in there have no idea! We can't leave them."

Deryn had to agree with Alek on this one, but she stayed silent. She knew that there had been a lot of tension between them, since Alek threw away his scroll...

But Volger grabbed his arm and spoke urgently. "Alek, I don't know where it's hidden. There's no time to dismantle it."

"Volger," Deryn could hear the anger in his voice, "we're Society agents. This is what we do, we save people-"

She stepped in to ask Volger how he knows-

BOOM

She was rocked by an explosion that killed the senses. Sight, sound, touch, smell, even taste are obliterated-

And Deryn knew no more.

* * *

A/N: Hope you enjoyed. I needed to weave a few plot points in this chapter. I hope the action and fluff balanced it out. I think I've changed my writing style significantly since I last posted a fanfiction here. Let me know how you like it :)

By the way, while Annette is going to be pretty big character, we're going to have a lot more of Dalek than her.


	5. Chapter 4

A/N: Middy Miles, thank you for pointing out the weird verb tenses to me. I'll be more careful about that. Sincere thanks for your constructive criticism :)

To Bramblepool and Sarasponda: Why thank you very much! :D

Thanks for the reviews y'all!

Disclaimer: not mine!

BTW: this chapter is supposed to be a little choppy, with emphasis on sights/sounds and emotions. Be nice, Alek just lived through a bombing.

* * *

There was dust in his nose.

That was the first thought that Alek had as soon as he came back into consciousness.

He sneezed-

Then registered the wailing. It was heartbreaking; keening the death of the loved one. The type of sound that almost freezes his bones.

He sat up groggily, rubbing his eyes-

And promptly smacked his forehead into Deryn´s.

_"Dummkopf"_ she gasped, giving him a fierce hug.

"I thought you would never wake up!"

Volger stood over him, tense as he scanned the area for enemies.

There was pain in his lungs, in his head-

He focused on breathing.

"How long was I out? And what happened?" asked Alek after a moment.

"A bomb," said Volger. The man grew more laconic in stressful situations.

"You were out for a barking half-hour!" Deryn said at the same time.

_Was there blood in his mouth?_

She put a hand to his head. "How do you feel, you daftie?"

He groans. "My head hurts like-"

He looks at Deryn. She huffs. "Well don't censor your swearing for my sake. I'm the one who taught you how to swear in English, remember?"

He grimaced. "But it's the thought of the thing-"

She rolled her eyes, and mumbles something like "daft polite princes."

Alek looks around the street and tries to make sense of the scene. "Why was there a bomb?"

"I suspect," says Volger dryly, "that the Germans did not appreciate the British peace party right in their homeland." Alek can see the anger in Volger's face. "I told Dr. Barlow not to send you, the deserter Clanker Prince right into the heart of Germany. But did she listen to me? Of course not..."

Deryn was quick to defend the boffin. "She thought with equal attendance of Clankers and Darwinists at the party tonight that he would be safe-"

"Obviously not," cut in Volger. "They had no qualms killing diplomat Fröese when he became a listening ear to our cause."

This jogged Alek's slow memory. "Why did they poison him? They had a bomb in the building already, right?"

Volger shook his head. "My guess is that Fröese knew of the plan, but the plotters betrayed him and decided to dispose of him as well."

"That doesn't make any sense! If he knew of the plan, why didn't he warn anyone? Why would he just leave us in there?" Deryn looked frustrated.

Alek shook his head to clear it. Nothing seemed to add up; who was the real perpetrator here? He knew that he was missing something vital...

Volger shrugged elegantly. "Now is not the time, Miss Sharp. We can think more on this later, but for now we need to get out of here and away from the building. You never know when someone will recognize us and shoot."

Deryn had to help Alek to his feet (much to his chagrin) and he realized that Volger and Deryn must have moved him while he was unconscious. He clearly remembered being in the middle of the street when the explosion happened. Now they were on the edge of the street under a building's awning.

Either they had moved him while he was unconscious, or the explosion had thrown all of them that far. He gulped and rubbed his neck again. He twisted his shoulders and could feel the grating in his spine. Alek knew he would not be sleeping well tonight.

They took off down the street, Volger in the lead.

The townsfolk were frantically pushing past them, going in every which direction. Alek could hear them calling to each other, trying to find loved ones in the wreckage.

And the whole time, he was thinking, _this is my war. My family started this war..._

And his heart was heavy.

They reached the air-port, where their ship, the _Hydra_, was docked. It was a large brick building, one of the first built in Germany, for Magdeburg was an important port city long before the creation of fabrications.

Suddenly, Volger pulled them aside, down an alley and away form the building. "Wait. If our enemies were determined enough to kill one of their own to get to us, our ship for the return home may not be safe," he said.

Alek frowned. "How else are we going to get home?"

Volger said, "I suggest that we head deeper into the country until we come across a port with a British or American ship to gain passage on."

"Farther into Germany? What purpose would that serve?"

"Think about it, Alek. Whoever these clart-heads are, they definitely won't expect us to go farther into Germany after being almost killed. They'll expect us to run home with our tails between our legs like scared little message lizards."

Alek nodded, understanding. "And now that you can speak German pretty fluently, we'll fit in well. The only problem is, we need a port with a friendly ship."

Volger turned his eyes toward Deryn. "Miss Sharp, you look like you have a plan."

Deryn looked thoughtful. "Well," she said slowly, " we could head South-east to Leipzig. It's not too far and my brother's ship the Minotaur is there until the end of the week."

Deryn's brother? The infamous Jasper Sharp? A seasoned soldier... who also didn't know about his relationship with Deryn.

Barking wonderful.

* * *

Annette pushed past the throngs of people. She tried hard to push the panic threatening to overwhelm her into the back of her mind.

A German town hall had just been blown up! What on earth was she supposed to make of that? She shook her head to clear it- the sound had temporarily (she hoped it was temporary) damaged her hearing.

She decided to move, in case someone else got the idea to bomb another part of town. She turned and began jogging at a reasonable pace down the road a few miles. Passing overturned carts and stands, she could hear the sound of animals and people in pain. The aftershocks of the bomb seemed to have spread toward the east, the opposite direction of where the inn she had been standing in.

As she ran, she thought. And tried not to panic.

What was she going to do now?

_Deep breath_.

What did this mean?

Well, one side was definitely opposed to the peaceful diplomacy that had been going on in that building. She was inclined to think that the Germans were the side responsible- blowing up a building just didn't seem like a Darwinist's style. She didn't even know if the Darwinists had bombs; they seemed more likely to use some godless creature to create havoc instead.

She shivered.

Annette stopped once out of the city limits, as it seemed unlikely anyone would bother bombing here. Sitting down on a fallen log, she contemplated her options.

London was still the destination, that was certain. But how to get there? She certainly wasn't going to join any Darwinists who may be left in the city.

Annette decided to head west toward the Netherlands. Perhaps in Amsterdam she would be able to find a ship to take her to London.

She hoisted her bag and was grateful that her Grandfather had thought to send her with a good deal of money on her trip. She would definitely need it to buy passage to Great Britain.

_Grandfather_.

Refusing to cry, she set off due west, toward London.

* * *

A/N: Ooooh, so close! They were in the same city and now they're heading in opposite directions. *evil author laugh*

My apologies on the delay. I'm in Florida on vacation so it's hard to get chapters up and published.

So, how did you like this chapter?

Thoughts on who the real 'bad-guys' are? (I haven't really given enough information on this yet, we'll revisit the topic in a couple chapters)

Also, question: is there canon or headcanon on the design of the Minotaur? I'm hoping not; I have a design for it already. But if there is, please let me know!


	6. Chapter 5

A/N: Here's some lovely plot-thickening.

4 months previous, in Berlin…

Attacking the U.S. was probably the stupidest thing that his country had ever done.

The U.S. was a vast country, with an abundance of resources and enough soldiers to make a significant contribution to the war. Not to mention that their Civil war two generations ago had spurred the development of an array of new technologies and war fabrications. Geography itself protected them from any European or Asian country. Really, the Americans would have been content to live in relative apathy for at least another few years; there was no advantage in attacking them.

But no one had asked _him_.

He sincerely hoped that whoever had advised his superiors to attack a tactically strong, previously neutral country was fired and disgraced.

And now they had left him to clean it up. He sighed, exhaustion weighing heavily on him as he resisted the urge to lean against the carriage sides. He had been preparing for this day for a fortnight- barely sleeping as he worked through the plan. The carriage jerked as one of the horses tripped over something-a hole in the road- and he cursed the driver for a _dummkopf_. Stormwalkers were infinitely preferable; but his image as a foreign dignitary was constrained to mindless, showy ceremony. Unfortunately, stuffy old customs still had to be observed in the aristocratic circles. Thus, real horses and elaborate carriages were still used to ferry around the elite.

The carriage came to a stop and the attendant opened the door. Nodding regally, he descended onto the pavement, avoiding the mud, and strode up to the door of the needlessly ornate mansion. There was something to be said for displays of power, but really, was the gold gilding on every window really necessary?

Underneath his calm façade, his insides were a quivering mess; this meeting was a defining point in his career. The entire sodding business of rectifying this mess had been assigned to him. It had only taken the government a week to fully realize the stupidity of attacking the U.S., and now they were turning to one of their newest and brightest strategists to present a plan. The next few hours were crucial to the rest of his life, and to the war. He only hoped that his superiors would like what he had prepared.

A maid took his coat- the beginning of the autumn seemed unusually cold this year. He followed her down the hall to the meeting room, which was already filled with men grim-faced from talk of war. The gaudy chandeliers and idyllic paintings seemed were jarringly at odds with the conversation topics.

He exchanged nods and pleasantries with the others. Young though he was, he was well-liked, and his relationships with these people would be crucial for his strategy. The media, especially, would be important for the execution.

He felt a thrill of nerves as the council was called to session; this was it.

…And the first person called to the floor seemed inclined to give an hour-long lecture on the food shortages in the northern part of the country.

_No one cares, you long-winded bat_. Food shortages were, understandably, cause for concern, but he had ceased caring half an hour ago. Judging by the looks on the others' faces, they were of a similar opinion.

_Drum, drum, drum_ went his fingers on the table, both nervous and impatient to begin speaking.

Just when the whiny old man had sat down (finally!), some professor of-agriculture?-stood up and began to monologue about the number of _sheep_ of all things that were needed in the south…

He gave up on pretending to pay attention and decided to scan back over his notes again.

In careful, meticulous writing, he had written the proverb_, "The enemy of my enemy is my friend," _at the top of the page. This was written at the top.

After all, Germany was not in the position of making allies any time soon. This was step one: forcing one of the neutral countries into war against the Darwinists. The list of potential allies who were strong enough to make a difference on their side had been narrowed down to one: the Ottoman Empire.

Honestly, they already had a significant reason to hate the British after the Behemoth fiasco. What on earth had the Darwinists been thinking when they'd come up with that plan? It seemed both sides were prone to occasional idiotic diplomacy.

"_Winston Churchill"_ was the second thing on his notes. Below that was a list of the British-German "diplomacy" meetings that the Darwinist windbag had scheduled in the upcoming months. A few dates were circled in red for special note.

Thirdly,_ "Ottoman 'spies.'" _Underneath it, underlined, read: "_media_." After all, framing another country for an act of war would take a certain amount of public opinion, and it had to be widespread enough to back the Ottoman Empire into a metaphorical corner. They'd _have_ to ally with Germany to protect themselves from Britain.

"_Poison, bombs"_ read the next entry. Both weapons were perfect for sabotage: untraceable if planted correctly. And poison could be faked, a useful characteristic for making someone "disappear." After all, a dead person is always above suspicion.

And, of course, the next item… the weapon that the chemists said would change the face of the war. Really, the idea was perfect, genius-

Suddenly, he heard his name called at the front, and butterflies danced in stomach once again. _Time for my presentation. _He felt a jolt of pride that all these important men had been gathered to hear his strategy. His vision seemed to tunnel, focusing on the man in charge of the war council-one of the Kaiser's advisors, if he was correct. Could anyone else hear his heart pounding? He sincerely hoped not.

"Gentlemen, please welcome the esteemed _Mr. Froese_…"

* * *

A/N: Was that totally predictable?

The bigger question: is anyone still reading this? 0_o

Cookies to Middy Miles, who is quite an amazing Beta-reader


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